


Santa Slade

by TheWayneManner



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Christmas fic, Crack Treated Seriously, Damian is CLAUStrophobic, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Naughty Damian Wayne, Nice Slade Wilson, No Smut, between Dick Grayson and Slade Wilson, damian isn't really claustrophobic, santa, that's a spongebob joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWayneManner/pseuds/TheWayneManner
Summary: Damian just wants a kitten for Christmas without the stipulation of having to sit on an elderly pedophile's lap for it.Dick just wants Damian to stop calling Santa a pedophile.And Slade… Slade just wants Christmas to be over.ORThe story about how Slade Wilson became Santa Claus.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne & Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 30
Kudos: 165





	1. December 18th

**Author's Note:**

> I promised myself I wasn't going to contribute to the madness that is Christmas fics but the madness sucked me in.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: There is NO smut in this fic, however, sex between Dick and Slade (non-explicit) is mentioned in one sentence. They also smooch.  
> As the summary suggests, Damian believes that Santa is some sort of pervert. This is treated in a lighthearted and humorous manner. Santa is NOT a pervert in this fic.

Dick was aggressively frosting a Santa-shaped sugar cookie when he heard Slade come through the door of their newly purchased apartment.

From the moment Dick had seen the apartment, he hated it.

He had thought it was pretentious and extremely unnecessary with all its stainless-steel appliances, multiple bathrooms each with their own bidets, and its location in the Diamond District of Gotham, but Slade argued that the apartment was absolutely necessary if Dick expected him to live in Gotham.

So, an overly expensive and bougie apartment it was.

Even though Dick still had his reservations about the place, he was currently more than thankful for its double oven.

A double oven meant he could stress-bake twice the number of cookies than he could with just a single oven, and twice the cookies baked meant twice the cookies to aggressively frost and take his frustrations out on.

"Why do we have enough Christmas cookies to feed a small orphanage?" Slade asked as he took a seat at the kitchen bar, watching with bemused interest as Dick continued his frosting onslaught on the cookied Santa Clauses.

"Because I'm stress baking," Dick grumbled, not taking his eyes off the rosy cheeks he was currently giving Santa #47.

"I can see that, but why?" Slade asked once more, a half-smile evident in the man's tone.

"Oh, I don't know, Slade," Dick said, tone sour as he turned to face Slade, wiping the frosting from his hands onto his festively decorated apron that said _Santa's Little Ho_ across the chest, "Because all is wrong in the world! Because Christmas Cheer is in jeopardy! Because Damian hates Santa! Take your pick!"

Slade snorted in response, "Are you still upset that the little brat refused to write a letter to the 'atrociously dressed pervert'?"

Dick took a moment to give the man a dirty look before answering.

"Yes, Slade. I am. And I will continue being upset about it until Christmas joy and childhood wonder is restored."

Slade rolled his eye at the other man's dramatics, "Just go show the kid one of the Santa's at the mall if you're so hell-bent on him believing in the goodness of ol' Kris Kringle."

"Oh, I tried that," Dick said, his voice taking on a manic edge, "and do you know what happened, Slade?"

"He refused to sit on the old guy's lap?"

"He tried to incite a riot."

**Earlier That Day**

"Let go of me, Grayson," Damian growled as he tried to forcibly pull his hand from Dick's own, "I don't understand why you insist I go sit on this overweight pedophile's lap and beg for gift's that father can no doubt just procure himself."

Damian's crude description of the jolly saint prompted a scandalized gasp from the woman in front of them. Like them, she was in line with her young daughter to see Santa and judging by the appalled look on her face, she did not take kindly to Damian's very loud views on Santa. She belatedly pressed her hands against her daughter's ears and clucked her tongue in admonishment.

Dick gave the woman an apologetic smile before turning his attention back to Damian. He crouched down until he was eye-level with his youngest brother and placed both hands on the boy's shoulders. He was hoping the gesture would convey the certainty with which he spoke his next words.

"For the last time, Damian," he began, voice low so as not to upset the woman and her daughter further, "he's not a pedophile. Please stop calling him that while we are in public."

"Just because he's not a _convicted_ pedophile doesn't mean that he isn't a pedophile," Damian responded, defensively crossing his arms over his chest and completely ignoring Dick's request to not call Santa a pedophile in public.

This was the fourth time they were having this conversation within the last hour, and Dick didn't know how many times he had left in him to defend Santa from allegations of pedophilia, something that he never thought he'd have to do in his life.

"Damian, please just stop," He said, massaging his temples to stave off his Santa induced migraine.

"Fine, let's say he's not a pedophile—"

Dick momentarily closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was no doubt going to be another insane accusation.

"There are still indisputable claims of his trespassing, breaking and entering, stalking, slavery, animal abuse, attempted murder, and sexual misconduct.

While all of Damian's claims were complete nonsense, Dick was a little taken aback by the attempted murder allegation. Where the heck had that one come from?

"You should be helping me lock him up, not forcing me to sit on his lap to be fondled," Damian finished with a sniff, turning his nose up at Dick.

Dick sighed. There was a lot to unpack with what Damian had just said. It would be so much easier to ease the boy's mind by telling him that he knew for a fact that Santa had done absolutely none of those things because the man wasn't real, but he refused to give up on getting Damian to believe and more importantly, like Santa.

Bypassing Damian's accusations of the saint, he focused on the last half of what Damian had said.

"Little D, I promise that he isn't going to fondle you," Dick couldn't believe he was saying this, "and if he does, which he won't, I will be the first to throw Santa into Blackgate for the rest of his life."

Damian thought Dick's words over for several seconds before responding with a curt nod.

"Those are agreeable terms, I suppose," he said slowly, "However," (of course, there would be a 'however') "he is known to be an exquisite escape artist, so extra precautions will need to be taken to ensure his containment."

"Alright, kiddo. We'll be sure to figure something out." Dick conceded, not wanting to get in an argument over a fictional character's imaginary incarceration.

Seeing the line had moved, Dick stood and nudged Damian forward. Hopefully, getting to experience the jolliness of the man firsthand would convince Damian that the man wasn't a serial criminal, and they could just move on and enjoy Christmas without any further debates regarding the saint.

Taking a deep breath, Dick took a moment to appreciate the artificial yet charming 'North Pole' that Gotham Mall had set up for this year's Santa meet-and-greet. It had a classic winter wonderland look, with snow-dusted trees and sparkling snowflakes hung in an attractive manner.

It was nice.

What decidedly was _not_ nice, though, was the look on Damian's face.

It was a look that Dick often saw on the boy's face when Damian was talking to Tim, hence, a very unpleasant look, and it was now directed at the Santa they were about to see.

The look of repulsiveness on the boy's face soon shifted to suspicion, but before Dick could question the sudden change, a woman dressed in a green and red elf costume was waving Damian forward, telling him Santa was ready for him.

To Dick's surprise, Damian approached the Santa without hesitance and just as quickly situated himself on the man's lap. He should have been pleased by the boy's apparent change of heart, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding dread. The only thing that brought Dick peace of mind was that he knew Damian didn't have anything sharp on him. He had personally patted down the younger boy for anything that could have been used as a weapon before they had left the manor. 

The Santa said something to Damian that Dick assumed was his standard greeting for children. Damian responded, and to Dick's immense relief, the jolly demeanor of the Santa didn't change. They exchanged a few more words before the Santa turned to the camera with a warm smile, preparing for the standard picture to be taken and subsequently, queuing the end of Damian's turn.

To Dick's utter shock, Damian beamed at the Santa and leaned in to hug the man. It was in this moment that Dick knew without a doubt that something was very wrong, but before he could make his way to Santa's chair, Damian was pulling away quick as a Flash with the Santa's beard in his hand.

He could hear the gasps of those around him, parents and children alike, but he didn't bother even glancing at them, his attention completely absorbed by the look of absolute glee on Damian's face.

Damian was still sitting on the shellshocked Santa's lap, his left hand lifting the Santa beard in triumph, and his right hand tightly gripping at the man's red sleeve for balance. 

Children were crying. Dick was sure of it. Yet, it seemed that none of the adults, including himself, had recovered from their shock.

The next twenty seconds seemed to pass in slow motion and would permanently be seared in Dick's mind.

Damian stood, placing one foot on the empty section of the chair between the Santa's legs, and placed his other foot a little higher up on the man's actual leg, brandishing the Santa's beard for all to see.

It was soon after taking up his victorious pose that the youngest Wayne began his speech.

"Gotham citizens," Damian began in true dramatic Damian fashion, "spread the word that this pretender wears a false beard and not even a good one at that! This so-called Santa is just a whoremonger who has put on a ruse so elaborate that he has tricked you into freely bringing your own children to be fondled in exchange for material goods. But do not blame yourselves for being deceived. As far as I am aware, this has been going on for generations, and you, too, were once the victims of his nefarious schemes. However, the cycle of offering your children to this atrociously overweight degenerate ends today!" Damian paused, and Dick thought the boy was done with his impromptu speech. He hoped Damian was done.

Damian was, in fact, not done.

"My name is Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises," Dick cringed. Bruce was not going to be happy about this.

"And I offer you an alternative to pimping out your children, come to the annual Wayne Toy Drive, and I can guarantee a toy for each child without payment in the form of molestation."

Damian ended his proclamation by throwing the detached beard out to the crowd, seemingly oblivious to their horrified expressions.

**Now**

"And then he proceeded to stomp on the poor man's balls."

By the time Dick finished his recount of the Santa debacle, Slade was full-on belly laughing.

"Slade, it's not funny. We are banned from the mall… Permanently." Dick frowned, crossing his arms over his chest in displeasure at Slade's obvious glee at today's outcome. Dick was a little more than peeved that this was the one and only Christmas related event Slade seemed to be genuinely taking enjoyment in.

"Come on, Dick. It's a little bit funny." Slade chuckled, his laughter finally dying down, but his eye still alight with joy.

"No, it's not," Dick said adamantly, "They put Damian on some Santa Watchlist, so the other Department stores know not to let him anywhere near Santa. They made him take a mugshot, Slade. A _mugshot_. Damian is literally on the naughty list!"

"Oh, calm down, Dick. You should just be happy the kid isn't on any other watchlists. Compared to the other watchlists the kid could be on, 'Santa's Watchlist' is pretty mild," Slade paused before musing, "Actually, I'm kind of surprised this is his first watchlist to make."

"Not helping, Slade," Dick said with an unimpressed glare.

"I just don't see why you're making such a big deal out of all of this."

"Oh, I'm sorry, but do you not see an issue him thinking that 'Santa' is a moniker taken up by fat elderly pedophiles who have bamboozled society into giving them free milk and cookies and providing them with an endless supply of children in exchange for cheap toys?!"

"So, what?" Slade shrugged with nonchalance, "The kid hates Santa and has some crackpot ideas about the old man. Hell, I never even believed in Santa—"

"And look how you turned out, Slade!" Dick interrupted his voice now shrill with upset.

Slade gave Dick a flat look. "Dick, you and I both know that me becoming a mercenary had nothing to do with me not believing in Santa as a kid."

"But it does have everything to do with you being a complete scrooge," Dick countered.

"I am not a _scrooge_."

Dick raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the man. "Oh, really? Then please remind me who, not even 48 hours ago, yelled out our bedroom window at a group of carolers to, and I quote, "Spare us all and go sing to a school for the deaf."

"I'm sorry that I didn't want to fuck you to their shitty rendition of Silent Night," Slade said, sounding not apologetic what so ever.

"They were children, Slade!"

"And yet, they still sucked."

"I thought it was nice," Dick said pointedly.

"Of course, you did," Slade said with a roll of his eye.

In lieu of responding, Dick turned his attention back to the cookies, putting his back towards Slade, hoping that his boyfriend would read it as the dismissal that it was.

He wasn't in the mood to banter with Slade tonight, especially if the man insisted on being an asshole and wasn't even going to try to understand why he was upset about Damian's insane perception of Santa. He had already been in a lousy mood before Slade got home, and the man was only making it worse at this point.

Unfortunately, Slade was either particularly dense tonight or having one of his stubborn streaks because he failed to leave Dick alone to fume with his myriad of Santa cookies.

"I didn't know you could bake," Slade ventured, trying to break the tense silence that had fallen over them.

"I can't. They were pre-made. All I had to do was not burn them." Dick replied tersely.

"Well, that's still very impressive for you," Slade teased.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny." Dick said, making it clear that he didn't find Slade's quip the least bit funny.

Sighing, Slade got up from his chair and made his way over to Dick.

"Come on, pretty bird, don't be mad," Slade said as he wrapped his arms around the other man, pulling him to his chest.

"You just don't get it," Dick sighed in exasperation, halfheartedly trying to break free from Slade's embrace, but the other man refused to let go.

"Then make me understand," Slade responded quietly, bending his head so he could trail soft kisses along Dick's exposed neck.

Dick relaxed in his arms, taking the gesture as the silent apology he knew it to be. Slade never said sorry with words but rather apologized with soft gestures and even softer touches.

Willing to give the man another chance, Dick turned in the other man's arms so that he could face him.

"I'm not even really upset about the Santa thing," Dick sighed, tilting his head forward until his forehead was resting against Slade's solid chest.

Slade stayed quiet, waiting for the other man to continue.

"It's more about Damian basically missing out on his entire childhood for the first ten years of his life. I just thought if I could get him to believe in the magic of Christmas, the magic of Santa, then... I don't know… I guess I thought I could give him a bit of his childhood back. I know it sounds stupid—"

"That's not stupid," Slade was quick to interrupt.

Dick pulled his head away from the other man's chest to gauge the genuineness of his statement.

"You don't think so?"

"No, I don't," Slade answered sincerely, "and who knows, maybe if I had someone who cared as much about me getting to experience the magic of Christmas when I was a kid like you do about Damian getting to, then I might have turned out to be a little less of a scrooge," he teased with a self-deprecating smile.

Slade only got a moment to appreciate the bright smile that broke out across Dick's face before the other man was wrapping his arms around the other's neck and standing on his tiptoes so he could meet Slade's lips. The kiss was soft and slow and tasted faintly of frosting. Slade couldn't help but smile into the kiss as he pictured a pouting Dick eating frosting directly from the container as he stress-iced dozens of Santa shaped cookies.

Slade would never understand how such a softhearted and compassionate man like Dick would choose to be with someone like him, but he wasn't going to question his good fortune, not now at least.

Dick lightly nipped at Slade's lip before pulling back.

In Slade's opinion, the kiss ended far too soon, but he wasn't about to start complaining now. Instead, he took Dick by the hips and effortlessly lifted the other man onto a cookie-less section of the kitchen counter so that he could stand between Dick's spread legs.

"So, what's the plan, pretty bird?" Slade grinned, "How are we going to convince the little gremlin that Santa isn't some conspiracy of old men out to get our children and steal our milk and cookies?"

"You're going to help me?" Dick asked, his surprise evident in the way his blue eyes widened.

"Of course," Slade answered simply, smiling back at Dick when the other man beamed at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in disbelief that I wrote a Christmas fic, but it seems my hand slipped, and here we are. 
> 
> This fic is very different from the usual angst-ridden fics that I write, so I would absolutely LOVE to know what you thought about this fic.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and kudos and comments are deeply craved ;)
> 
> Next and final chapter will be up before Christmas day!


	2. Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It truly is a Christmas miracle that I finished this on Christmas (at least where I live, gotta love time zones) and not days later. 
> 
> Trigger Warning: Brief attempt at seduction, same warnings as the last chapter too. 
> 
> Fun Fact: This is also my first fic to finish, woop woop!

**Christmas Eve 7:28 pm**

Slade had been enjoying a quiet Christmas Eve by lying in bed and scrolling through the various contracts Wintergreen had sent him to review when he felt Dick's eyes on him.

Setting his tablet down, he was fully prepared to give his boyfriend the attention the other man was undoubtedly asking for, but instead of the demand for kisses and cuddles that Slade expected, he was met with the sight of Dick standing at the foot of their bed holding up what was unmistakably a Santa suit in Slade's size.

"Absolutely not," Slade said, thoroughly unimpressed and quick to shut down anything that involved him having to dress up as a fictional character.

"Slade, you said you'd help."

"Not like this."

"Please."

"No."

Dick gave an exaggerated sigh at Slade's blunt refusal before crossing his arms over his chest in the way he always did when he wanted Slade to know that he was disappointed in him to the point of speechlessness.

Slade, however, was unmoved by the familiar gesture—especially since the Santa suit tangled up in the man's crossed arms only likened him to that of a pouty child who had been denied a game of dress-up—and was content to match Dick's displeased stare and stony silence with an impassive silence of his own.

If Dick wanted to act like a spoiled child who had been told no for the first time, then Slade would treat him as such. He had never agreed to anything specific, and he wasn't about to let Dick guilt-trip him into doing something as idiotic as playing Santa for the brat.

The impromptu staring contest went on for several minutes before Dick finally came to the conclusion that passive-aggressive guilt-tripping wasn't going to get him what he wanted.

Changing tactics, Dick relaxed his posture into something less defensive and more disheartened while putting on what Slade was sure was the coyest, most forlorn pout the man could manage. It resembled something akin to a kicked puppy, cute yet pathetic. 

The way Dick bounced between emotions could easily give someone whiplash, but Slade had played this game many times with Dick and steeled himself for Dick's next emotional attack.

"Please, Slade," he tried once more, this time in a tone that would have lesser men bending backward to give the man what he wanted.

"If Damian see's 'Santa' delivering him a kitten," Dick continued, making his plea all the more enticing by getting on the bed and crawling towards Slade (Santa suit still clutched tightly in hand), "there's no way he's going to be able to hate the man, and he'll finally stop referring to him as a 'Christmas-themed pervert of gargantuan proportions.'"

Slade snorted at the reminder of one of Damian's more creative descriptions of the jolly ol' saint before replying with a curt _Get Wayne to do it_ as he turned his attention back to his tablet.

As far as he was concerned, this conversation was over.

Dick, however, was not one to be deterred and cleverly situated himself atop Slade, straddling the other man's hips and deftly plucking the tablet from his fingers.

Reluctantly, Slade gave the minx of a man his attention.

"Bruce isn't old enough—" Dick began, only to be interrupted by Slade's less than amused look.

"I didn't say _old_ , I said _old enough_ ," Dick clarified and not without an exasperated eye roll, "and you didn't let me finish. Damian obviously isn't going to be fooled by another fake beard, but we don't have to worry about that if you're Santa."

Slade scoffed, a bit offended that his neatly trimmed goatee was being compared to the stereotypical and extremely bushy 'Santa beard.'

"My goatee is nothing like a Santa beard, Dick."

"Eh, it's the right color, so close enough," Dick shrugged, unmoved by Slade's argument, "He won't know the difference."

"Oh, really?" Slade raised a skeptical eyebrow, "And I suppose he won't notice that 'Santa' is missing an eye either?"

Dick gave him a flat look, "Stop being difficult, Slade. I know you have a glass eye. You can wear it for the five minutes it takes you to deliver his kitten."

"I could, but I'm not going to because I'm not delivering any kittens in _this_ ," Slade said, pointedly taking the Santa suit from Dick's grasp and throwing it off the bed and onto the armchair in the corner of their room.

Dick huffed out a breath of annoyance as he looked at the discarded suit before turning his attention back to Slade, his eyes briefly flashing in determination.

"Slade," Dick called his name even though Slade's attention was already on him. His tone was deceptively sweet, and he cocked his head in that pretty way that he knew Slade liked while also pushing his lip out in a subtle pout.

Slade knew what he was doing, and it _wasn't_ going to work.

"I don't think you understand how—" Dick paused, biting his lip as he seemingly mulled over his words, his blue eyes flickering to Slade's bare chest and back to his eye, " _appreciative_ I would be if you did this for me." 

His voice was low and sultry, and he said the word 'appreciative' slowly as if he was tasting the word as it passed his lips.

"I might even be willing to let you open one of your presents early," Dick continued, his eyes lowered, watching his own hand as it trailed down the other man's stomach.

Call him a horny, old man who only thought about sex, but Slade had the distinct feeling that they weren't talking about presents.

With a will stronger than most men, Slade caught Dick by the wrist before his hand could go any lower, "I know what you're doing, Dick, and I don't care how persuasive that pretty mouth of yours is. I'm _not_ dressing up as Santa."

End of story. Period. It wasn't going to happen. _Ever_.

**Christmas 2:37 am**

Slade was standing on the roof of Wayne Manor, dressed as Santa Claus.

Unfortunately for his self-respect, Dick's mouth had turned out to be extremely persuasive.

Not only had he been forced to adorn the jolly old saint's get up, but he was also toting around a red velvet sack that contained one furball from hell. Anytime he tried to check on the kitten to make sure it hadn't suffocated, the feral little thing would try its very best to claw Slade's only remaining eye out. He honestly hadn't met something so tiny and yet so hateful since… well, _Damian_.

Now that he thought about it, the hellcat and demon spawn were almost a perfect reflection of each other; both despised Slade, had wide green eyes that lit up at the prospect of being able to seriously maim someone, and they both were tiny yet embodied the rage and spitefulness of three fully grown men.

Dick honestly couldn't have gotten the boy a better cat.

Despite the little hellion of a creature making multiple attempts at using his eye as a scratch post, the cat wasn't the problem.

The problem was that he was currently freezing his balls off and couldn't see shit with the snow whipping around him like some goddamn blizzard out of National Geographic.

Since when did Gotham even get blizzards?

He'd blame Freeze for the freak storm, but he knew for a fact that the human-popsicle had been fucking around in the artic for the last month. So, unless there was another frozen freak he didn't know about running around creating ice storms, then the blizzard was just a result of Slade's never-failing shit luck. He was somewhat surprised that he hadn't already slipped off the ice-slicked roof of the manor with the way his night had been going so far.

However, slipping off the roof and cracking his skull open was quickly beginning to look like the more attractive option compared to having to put up with Dick and his Christmas-themed bullshit for a second longer.

"Dick, I'm not going down the goddamn chimney," Slade growled into his comm.

Not only had Dick convinced Slade to play Santa for the night, but the man had also just so happened to have patrol tonight, leaving Slade to deliver the demented furball by himself.

He heard Dick's snort cackle through the comm, "Fine, but can you at least give me a 'Merry Christmas and a good night to all' after you deliver Damian's kitten?"

"No."

"A 'ho-ho-ho'?"

"No."

"One 'ho'?"

_"No."_

"You usually like role play, not in the mood for it tonight?" Dick quipped, sounding far too amused by the whole situation.

"Just tell me which window's security you disabled so I can get this over with," Slade groused, ignoring Dick's teasing question as he trekked his way to the east side of the manor, towards the family wing of the house

"The third window on the second floor facing the east, it will get you into the family wing, and then all you have to do is go three doors down, and it will be the door on your right," Dick replied easily.

Not wanting to give Dick any more ammo to torture him with, Slade gave a short grunt in acknowledgment and continued to make his way over to the east side of the manor. 

Once there, he began his descent down the side of the manner, being careful not to lose his grip on the slippery edges. The last thing he needed was Wayne seeing his Santa clad body plummeting from his roof and having the awkward conversation that would no doubt follow.

Continuing to scale his way down the side of the manor, not without cursing Dick and his entirely too talented mouth along the way, Slade finally made it to the designated window. Cracking it open, he was relieved when no obvious alarms went off and then proceeded to fully open the window until he could comfortably climb into the manor.

"You're lucky no alarms went off. I don't feel like fighting with your old man tonight," Slade grumbled in lieu of letting Dick know he had made it into the manor.

"I honestly don't know why he still hates you so much. The only contracts you take anymore are the security detail ones." Dick responded, sounding genuinely baffled.

"Maybe it's the fact that I'm fucking his kid."

Slade kept his voice low, as to not wake up the inhabitants of Wayne Manor, but he didn't doubt that Dick could hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

"You can't see it, but I'm rolling my eyes," Dick replied, sounding amused nonetheless.

"I'm sure you are, pretty bird."

A comfortable silence fell between them as Slade continued to make his way down the darkened hall, being careful not to jostle the kitten to prevent any inconvenient yowls and hisses.

It wasn't long until he came upon the designated door and let Dick know that he had found the boy's room.

"Good," Dick said, sounding a little nervous despite him not even being there, "don't forget that you need to make sure that Damian sees you deliver the kitten, so you'll need to 'accidentally' wake him up, or he'll just assume it was Bruce or me that brought it."

Slade hummed in acknowledgment. He knew this. They had gone over this at least ten times.

"But make sure you don't wake him up until you have the kitten where it will be the first thing he see's or else this could end up very—"

"Bloody," Slade finished for him, "I know, Dick. We've been over this a million times."

"Oh! And don't forget to say something nice and Christmas-y to him. You really have to sell the whole jolly Santa image, so he'll stop thinking of him as a pervy grandpa. Maybe a 'I heard you were a good little boy this year' with a jolly chuckle or—"

"Goodbye, Dick," Slade interrupted, before the other man's babbling got any more convoluted, "I'll ping you once I'm done."

"Hey, wait—"

Slade turned off his comm, cutting off Dick's protest.

He loved the other man, obviously, or he wouldn't be doing this, but when it came to doing a job (even if that job was beyond ridiculous), he preferred to do it without distractions, and Dick was the personification of a distraction.

The man would no doubt be agitated that Slade practically hung up on him, but once Slade completed operation 'deliver hellcat to demon spawn,' he was sure all would be forgiven. He was even hopeful that Dick would let him open up another 'present' tonight if things went right.

Taking the final step towards Damian's door, Slade reached out and slowly turned the doorknob. Even to his own enhanced hearing, the door didn't make a noise as he opened it. Meaning that there was no way the door opening would wake the brat up.

Once inside the room, he closed the door behind him and located the bed where there was unmistakably the outline of a sleeping figure.

The only light in the room was from the faint glow of a charger, but it was enough for him to see that the boy was in bed with only his dark hair poking out from under the blanket.

Making his way over to the bed, Slade couldn't help but feel like a creep as he snuck into the young boy's room in the dead of night. It wasn't his best look, but it also wasn't like he was doing this for kicks. Heck, Slade had a general rule to stay at least fifteen feet from the feral boy at all times for his own safety. He was pretty sure that the only person who hated him more than Wayne was Damian, and that was saying a lot since the last time Slade and Wayne were in the same room, it had ended with both Jason and Dick having to pry daddy bat's fingers from his throat.

That had been one of Slade's more memorable Thanksgivings.

Shaking away the nostalgia of their last 'family' dinner, Slade continued with his task of making his way to the boy's bed. It was an extremely large room for a child, so he had an unusual amount of ground to cover till he was at the boy's bedside.

But as he approached the boy's sleeping figure, he had the distinct feeling that something was off about the whole situation. The sense of unease only growing the closer he got.

It wasn't until he was just about a good two yards away from the boy that he realized what was causing his unease with the situation.

The sleeping figure in the bed was far too large to be Damian, let alone any child.

_Fuck._

Understanding dawned on him instantly.

Dick had given him the wrong goddamn room.

And not only had Dick given him the wrong room, but his shitty directions had taken Slade to none other than Bruce-fucking-Wayne's room. The absolute last person's room he wanted to be in at this moment (excluding his ex-wife).

If the room had to be wrong, why couldn't it have been the Drake kid's room?

Yeah, walking in on the probably still wide-awake teen would have probably guaranteed the kid fucking with his bank accounts for the next month, but at least he wouldn't be in _Wayne's_ room.

Leave it to Dick to live in a place for eight years and still not know whose door was whose.

But he could berate Dick for his shitty directions later. Right now, he needed to get the hell out of Wayne's room and the manor in general. Screw operation 'deliver hellcat to demon spawn,' the new mission was 'fuck this.'

Slade had just turned his back to Wayne to creep his way back out of the man's room when he realized there was a distinct lack of slow and steady breathing coming from the man.

_Shit._

Slade barely had time to register the shuffling of bed covers before 235lbs of muscle collided with his back, tackling him to the ground.

He probably could have avoided the tackle or at very least lessened his impact with the floor, but he used his last seconds of being a free-standing man to toss the sack containing the kitten to the side. The cat would no doubt be pissed off about the rough treatment, but he figured a pissed off cat was better than a cat in the form of a pancake.

He was sure the cat yowled in unrestrained rage, but he couldn't hear anything over the sound of his chin connecting with the hardwood floor and reverberating throughout the entirety of his skull.

Momentarily stunned by the impact, Slade didn't resist as Wayne pinned him to the floor. The man's knees digging into his lower back in an attempt to gain the leverage needed to keep a man of Slade's size successfully pinned. Wayne also had a grip on the back of his neck, making it impossible for Slade to raise his head and essentially rendering Slade blind since his good eye was currently pressed to the floor, and judging by the sharp point he could feel digging into his check, Wayne's other hand was most likely wielding one of his signature Batarangs. 

It was all a bit of an overreaction if you asked Slade.

"Who are you and what do you want," Wayne growled, putting on his best 'Batman' voice and cutting straight to the point.

Slade was not impressed. The effect of the Batman growl seemed to lose its fear-inducing effect if you had been the recipient of it multiple times, and in Slade's case, mainly at family dinners.

"I'll be honest with you. I usually reserve the rough foreplay for your eldest," Slade goaded instead of answering the man's question, knowing that his voice alone would be answer enough.

As expected, Wayne's grip on the back of Slade's neck only tightened at the revelation of who he had pinned underneath him.

"Slade?" Wayne questioned, his voice caught between anger and confusion as he momentarily forgot to use his Batman voice.

"Unfortunately."

Considering his current position of having a pissed off Bat on top of him, he probably should have been taking the confrontation a bit more seriously, but there was just something about the man the brought out Slade's inner asshole and made him so much fun to mess with

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was playing Santa?"

"No," came Wayne's flat, yet expected response.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but that is exactly what I'm doing."

There was a brief pause from Wayne. The man was probably trying to process the bizarre situation that was currently parading as their life.

"Are you drunk, Wilson?"

Slade couldn't help the snort that erupted out of him, it was a reasonable question and would make a lot more sense than the actual truth of the situation.

"I wish."

"Slade, you have three seconds to tell me what you are doing in my bedroom dressed in _velvet_ before I call Gordon to come pick you up," Wayne hissed, saying the word 'velvet' like it was a dirty word. Slade couldn't help but think the velvet part of the situation was a weird thing for Wayne to fixate on, but he figured that the man couldn't see anything in the still dark room and was making his observations on touch and sound alone. 

Deciding that he would rather not have to call Dick from Blackgate on Christmas, Slade answered the man's question plainly as possible, "You can threaten and posture all you want, Wayne, but my answer isn't going to change because it's the truth," Slade paused, waiting to see if Wayne would interrupt him with another threat, but when the threat didn't come, he continued, "Hear the bag hissing over there? It's a kitten or, more specifically, the kitten I was supposed to be delivering tonight."

Despite Slade's more than honest explanation, Wayne just seemed to get more confused.

"Why did you think I wanted a kitten from _you_?" the man asked, sounding absolutely mystified by the whole situation, which Slade honestly couldn't blame him for. The situation was bizarre, even by Bat standards.

"I didn't. It's for Damian. If it's not obvious by now, I thought this was the brat's room."

"So you're telling me that you, a 57-year-old man, were sneaking into my 11 years old room at three o'clock in the morning?"

Yeah, Slade could see how that looked pretty bad from Wayne's standpoint.

"To bring him a kitten," Slade said wearily, for the first time realizing how bad this looked. Why did he let Dick convince him to do stupid shit like this?

"I'm still unclear on why you were bringing my son a kitten this late at night in the first place, while knowingly dressed as a fictional character that he believes molests children."

Even though Slade couldn't see the man, he knew he was frowning and utterly unimpressed by Slade's explanation. Slade himself was unimpressed by his explanation. He was just about to suggest they call Dick to clear this whole clusterfuck up when Wayne's bedroom door flung open, flooding the room with the hallway light.

Despite not being able to see shit, Slade had a feeling he knew who was standing in the doorway, and it did not bode well for him or his various body parts if he was correct.

He could feel Wayne shift a top of him, probably adjusting to the sudden change in lighting, but before either man could greet the new addition, there was the distinct sound of a katana being drawn.

Yep, this wasn't boding well for Slade at all.

Slade's suspicions of who was at the door were only confirmed when he heard the telltale sign of an outraged yet squeaky battle cry and the sound of running feet.

Resigned to his fate, Slade took solace in the fact that Dick would owe him many 'presents' after tonight.

"Merry fucking Christmas to me," Slade sighed before he heard the inevitable crunching of his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cod-damn, I felt like I had to beat this last chapter into submission with a crowbar, but it’s done, so I hope it tickled your fancy. 
> 
> As always kudos and COMMENTS are loved and appreciated and the best Christmas present you could give this fic author 😉

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @thewaynemanner


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